


Just the Thing

by edenbound



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Other, non-binary Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 15:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19832653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenbound/pseuds/edenbound
Summary: Aziraphalewouldhave said that he had plenty of patience, before, but now he has a stubborn demon in front of him with a spine so straight it might as well be an iron poker, and red-rimmed eyes beneath his sunglasses. He'll have to take care of this, somehow.





	Just the Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I did threaten to flood AO3 with enby asexual Crowley fics. Well, here goes another! I tagged it as genderfluid as well, since enby/genderfluid can overlap (or they do for me, anyway), and this Crowley can certainly be read as either.
> 
> I don't (at least for now) want to write fics where Crowley has any agonising to do about what he is. So Aziraphale knows, and doesn't care, and doesn't want Crowley to worry about it. If I write the sort of fic where there will be angst about asexuality/genderfluidity, I'll say so in the notes, because we deserve to be happy and have fiction where we are just happy and everyone accepts us as we are.

Someone give him patience.

Aziraphale _would_ have said that he had plenty of patience, before, but now he has a stubborn demon in front of him in his bookshop, with a spine so straight it might as well be an iron poker, and red-rimmed eyes beneath his sunglasses. Everything about his posture, his face, the tightness of his voice -- it all proclaims there's something wrong louder than words. And if Aziraphale hadn't learned something about listening to unspoken words, they wouldn't be here right now. _Here_ probably wouldn't be here right now. Crowley is all but shouting his tension, his discomfort, even though in theory everything should be safe now.

"You should take a bath," he says, because that's the first thing that pops into his head when he looks at the long tense lines of the body he wore just a few days before, for just long enough to do the job. "A nice hot bath. Just the thing."

"What?"

Aziraphale decides that he might as well stick to it, since there's a lack of any other ideas. He takes a step closer and takes one of Crowley's hands in his. "This way, dear."

"You have a bathroom in this place?"

"Well, yes. It came as standard... And besides, a hot bath is, well. I've been known to indulge. Come _along_ , Crowley."

He is uncomfortably aware of Crowley's hand in his as they climb the stairs from the bookshop into the flat, a change marked mostly by a somewhat _greater_ profusion of books, safely distributed around in the knowledge that people won't be able to touch them. The demon's hand is warm and entirely human-feeling in his, except that it sets Aziraphale's skin tingling. He's fairly sure that's nothing to do with Crowley's demonic nature, and much more to do with those unspoken words. He lets go of Crowley's hand as soon as they're in the bathroom, and starts the hot water running. He reaches out in the sure knowledge that there _must_ be a bottle of lavender-scented bath bubbles there, and the bottle obligingly comes into existence. "You'd better strip," he tells Crowley.

"Angel, I'm _not_ stripping in front of you."

Aziraphale checks the temperature of the water quickly and smiles beatifically. It's going to be perfect. Just the thing. "So that's a yes to the bath idea, then?"

There might be a hint of colour in Crowley's cheeks. "Well. Since you're going to all the trouble."

"Good!" Aziraphale claps his hand together, and since Crowley isn't moving, tugs at his jacket until he takes it off. "That's better."

Crowley hesitates again, halfway through unbuttoning his shirt. "You know I'm not interested in..."

Aziraphale resists the urge to roll his eyes and firmly takes possession of Crowley's shirt, slipping the last button loose and then unwinding him from it. "Yes, I know. I'm not interested in that either. I'm mostly interested in getting you to relax, and you're not going to do that while you are A) pretending that nothing is wrong, B) refusing to take care of yourself, and C) wearing entirely the wrong clothes. Since clothes are entirely unnecessary in a bath, that takes care of _that_ part of the problem."

Crowley gapes at him. "The wrong. Clothes."

"Crowley," Aziraphale says, with every ounce of patience he can squeeze out of himself, "I have known you for six millennia. You can wear a dress around me even when you're not pretending to be a nanny. You can even wear a different body if that's what you need; I know your form has always been malleable. Well, I don't know if your snake form is advisable in a hot bath -- I haven't the least idea what's good for snakes, to be quite truthful. But you could certainly slip into a more comfortable _human_ skin."

"Angel," he says, and he looks entirely at sea. "Are you saying..."

Suddenly, it's easy. Aziraphale reaches up and cups his hand over Crowley's face. He tugs the dark glasses away with the other hand, and then he's leaning in, leaning in and in forever -- he's been leaning into Crowley his whole existence, just at the most excruciatingly slow pace -- and he kisses Crowley, just once, on the mouth. "I'm saying that I love you, dear. I've loved you all through time. And I don't care what you look like, and that I know you're always changing your mind about what you look like, and that's fine. I stick to the classics myself, but that doesn't mean I mind you being yourself. And I've never personally been interested in sexual intimacy, so you don't need to worry about that, though I would quite like to hold you."

"Hold me," Crowley says, and his eyes are unfocused, dazed, the slit pupils dilated. Aziraphale isn't sure whether it's an instruction or not, so:

"Is that a request?"

"Yes," Crowley says, still in that dazed voice, and then again with decision, "yes, absolutely, in fact it's a _demand_ , but if you do that I'm not going to want you to let me go, and that bath will overflow."

"That would be a waste," Aziraphale agrees, but he can't quite resist placing another kiss on Crowley's sweet, unresisting mouth. "Is this alright?"

"Do you think we'll both fit in that bath?" Crowley asks, which seems somewhat incongruous at first, and then makes perfect sense.

"I imagine so," he says, and does, he imagines it very vividly and _loudly_ , so that the bath will oblige. "I'll wash your hair," he adds, and Crowley makes a little noise, a noise he's probably embarrassed about, something like -- well, a squeaky rubber duck, honestly. Aziraphale smiles. This is definitely a good idea. He's under no illusions that it will fix everything, but it's the start of something. Something they've both been waiting for, for an excruciatingly long time.

It will, in fact, be just the thing.


End file.
